I always find ways
To take the scenic route,
Towards being somewhat close to at least half ready
To leave the house and start my work day.
But rushing is stressful and boring.
So I allow plenty of space and time
For distractions of my own creation.
I feel sweet this morning,
Like damp candy floss.
Making my fingers sticky,
And my teeth hum.
Unzip my jacket. Slowly. Outside in the cold.
Bare my warm skin to the winter wind and let loose my hidden charms.
Expose me, show off my stripes, my joys and my sorrows.
My soul finds purchase in my flesh and holds me tight from the outside in,
And the inside out.
It is now time to look at what has always been obscured, what has always been blurred, ignored, brushed aside, overlooked, and shamed into oblivion. See what you have been leaving out of the picture.
Don’t just explore the obvious; look beyond to what is not immediately apparent, and in that space, you will find your healing.
❤xoxoxo The Empress xoxoxo❤
Ever get a profound urge to pleasure yourself right before bed, no matter how tired you are? No matter what time it is, and with little regard for how much sleep you will be sacrificing?
Sometimes that happens to me. So to be more present and creative, I will smoke a j and take a few mildly naughty photos of myself to whet my appetite. Sometimes the photos are a little more than mildly naughty.
Just the thought of objectifying myself for my own enjoyment delights me in ways I can’t explain. It feels like a deeply intimate act of self-love.
Some pictures, though. Some pictures I take of myself so surprise even me that I have no choice but to relinquish my camera to sudden indifference, and lose myself in… well, myself. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Say. No. More.
Why do you think there are only two photos in this series? Ahem…. I mean… dat ass doe.
I love to snowshoe in the winter. It is a favourite nordic passtime that allows me to exercise in a way that does not feel like exercise, and to commune with Mother Nature. I am a witchy pagan type and a Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) so regular communion with Nature is an imperative for optimal functioning.
Today, I discovered that I also like stripping out of doors…
And freezing my tits off…
For the sake of art. And if you are wondering… it was worth it. Obviously. I mean… you can see my smile, can’t you?
It was also worth the scare of thinking that a fellow snowshoer or snowmobiler might discover me… and get a free show.
Not that I am charging anyone to see this one….
But lucky for me, I did not get caught. Worse luck next time… perhaps… 😈.
Certain family members always comment on my lips.
“You have your cousin Carol’s lips”, they would say.
“They are thin.”
So I always thought my lips were thin, because that is what I was told….
Two barely pink lines… that apparently belong to someone else.
But I think they are wrong about MY lips.
Not only do they belong to me, but they are kinda juicy and delicious. Maybe they aren’t very plump or pouty, but they are sumptuous and they are MINE.
Awash in golden light.
I bend and flicker like the flame of a candle.
I burn and devour all that I touch,
All that I breathe upon,
All that passes through my mind, my scorching open heart.
I am awash in golden light,
And my soul glows like a white-hot coal in the centre of the fire.
Velvety pink dreamy creamy lushness
Between my thighs.
All over my body.
Wrapping my insides and outsides in swathes of rosy softness.
When I’m alone… I’m never really alone. And I always have fun. Especially when mirrors are invited to my little parties. Mirrors are things I enjoy rather than fear.
Many women spend inordinate amounts of time in front of the mirror. But often for the wrong reasons.
They stare at their imperfections. Cursing them. Hating their bodies. Hating their own very essence. It’s true. It’s how we are taught to see ourselves. It’s heart-breaking.
But society is full of shit. It lies to us, ladies. It lies. All. The. Time. You see… we are perfect already. With our rolls, cellulite, unevenly sized titties, stretch marks and marks of other sorts, our luscious asses that jiggle when we walk, run… and fuck. We are perfect already. We have always been.
And we are beautiful. Our mirrors tell us every day how fucking delicious we are. We just need to start believing them… and not the lies we are fed from birth by society, by our families and friends, by other women, by men, by ourselves.
So start worshipping your own tastiness… in front of your biggest mirror… and un-tell yourself all of those lies.
I can barely contain my unruly curves.
Nobody and nothing can.
Clothes can scarcely keep them in line.
They want to spill out and over.
Subdue all angles.
Expunge all sharpness.
Lines and stripes can’t even stay straight. No matter how hard they try. Or cry.
Straightness and confinement. No, these are forbidden, whenever my curves are involved.
I enjoy taking photos of myself. Not in the selfie kind of way. Well, yeah I take selfies, but it’s about playing different roles as the photo becomes. It’s not for anyone else; it’s for me, that little photo. I choose to share it with you, but only after I share it with myself first.
I play different parts in each photo session: I am the photographer, honing my gaze on an object of one kind of attraction or another to capture a sublime moment of joy, passion, contentment, even sadness. I am the model, contorting my body or sprawling over a surface to create a vision of beauty or repulsion or desire or… whatever else. I am the audience, whose gaze upon the photo usually leads to a smile, a giggle, a tear, or perhaps even a wandering hand. I also play the critic, whose calculating and cutting evaluation of my many imperfections always makes itself known. The fucker.
Each role engages a facet of me. And they come out to play together once in a while. It’s an experience that creates a sense of wholeness within and without. And if you introduce a mirror, or another reflective surface of some sort, into the session, it seriously doubles the whole that I become.
She is paradise in panties.
She is fire in fishnet.
She is bodacious in black lace.
Sometimes… I want to rip all of my clothes off and burn them to cinders. In more temperate weather, they serve no other purpose than to further separate us from ourselves. From one another. Just another layer of separation. When my body is nude, my thoughts and feelings are too. I am more vulnerable and more prone to openness. Because I have nothing to hide behind. And when I’m open like this… I am very exposed. And I mean this in more than one way.
Anyway, enough waxing poetic for now. I plan on sharing stories, verses, fantasies, vignettes, dreams, hopes, desires and existential musings… along with a good dose of my semi-naked body. Because… carpe fucking diem. And I like taking pictures of my softness and my thickness. I am not ashamed to admit this; I am an enthusiastic partial “autosexual”. Look it up if you don’t know the term.
I hope you enjoy this adventure through the inner and outer dreamscape of my sexuality. Do come back to masturbate to something if you like. We’re all sex-positive adults over here, aren’t we? Until next time.